


He Took Her Breath Away

by darnedchild



Series: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017, pre-sherlolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:52:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darnedchild/pseuds/darnedchild
Summary: A short fic for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 - Day One (Non-Canon - First Meeting). The first time she saw him, he took her breath away. Literally.





	He Took Her Breath Away

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that Lestrade is a DI in the series, but this is set prior to Series 1 so I made him a Sergeant. Also, I know absolutely nothing about medical jargon so please bear with me and my friend Google. Unbeta'd because that's how I roll during Appreciation Weeks.

  


The first time she saw him, he took her breath away.

Literally.

She’d only been working at Barts for a few weeks—still technically shadowing Doctor Riker as she finished her “getting to know how we do things around here” training—when a slightly older gentleman came into the morgue. 

Doctor Riker introduced him as Detective Sergeant Lestrade with New Scotland Yard, and reminded her that they occasionally provided information regarding autopsies to the police.

Sergeant Lestrade gave her a slightly distracted smile, but it was obvious that the majority of his attention was focused on Doctor Riker. “Have the results come through on the lab work I asked for?”

“You’ll have to ask Doctor Hooper,” Riker huffed. “I haven’t the time to humour your . . . associate; looking for traces of foul play that don’t exist, when Mrs Perkins clearly died from injuries sustained in a vehicular collision. Getting hit by a bus when you’ve darted into traffic can often prove fatal.” He smirked and tried to share a ‘Can you believe this?’ look with Molly, which she pretended not to see.

“Yeah, I imagine it does.” Lestrade nodded, then quickly turned toward Molly (and very deliberately away from Doctor Riker). “So, the results?”

“I, uh, started the analysis this morning. When Doctor Riker got your message.” Or, more precisely, when Molly had finished her assigned autopsy and gone searching for something else to do and Riker had happily dumped ‘busy work’ into her lap. “The last one should be just about finished, if you want to wait here, or you could come with me up to the lab if you’re in a rush?”

“I’m waiting for someone to join-“ The detective trailed off and took one more look at Riker from the corner of his eye. “You know what, the lab sounds good.” 

Riker harrumphed and disappeared into the small room the pathologists used as an office.

Molly bit her lip to keep from giggling and headed toward the door. Doctor Riker was nice enough once you got past the prickly exterior, amusing too. He’d made her laugh over an autopsy table more than once. 

Lestrade held up a hand. “Just a sec, let me text Sherlock and let him know we’re going upstairs.”

She was distracted by Lestrade and missed the flash of movement visible through the window in the morgue door. The door flew open and a tall, dark shape barrelled through, running straight into Molly and knocking all the air out of her lungs as she hit the ground.

Her eyes opened to find a hand held in front of her face. Her gaze followed the hand up a suit jacket clad arm to a mass of curls and pale blue eyes. This close, she caught the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and the cool London air. The hand in front of her face twitched impatiently. “Is she always like this or should someone check her for a concussion?” the mystery man asked Lestrade.

“Oi! Manners, Sherlock.” the other man snapped. “Are you all right, Doctor Hooper?”

“Uh, yeah, I-I just fell.” Molly winced at how inane she must have come off sounding. She took the offered hand and let Sherlock pull her to her feet. Her skin tingled where it had touched his, and she couldn’t help but rub her palm against her hip to try to dispel the sensation. 

“Now that we’ve got that settled, has Riker done those tests I’ve asked for?”

Even his voice did things to her. 

“Actually, he asked me to do it.” 

Sherlock turned those beautiful eyes on her and Molly felt her stomach dip. “And did you?”

“Did I what?” she asked, nearly breathless again; although for a completely different reason this time.

“Mrs Perkins,” he prompted. 

“Oh, yes! I did her. It. Them. The tests.” She knew she was babbling, but the words wouldn’t stop tumbling out of her mouth. She could tell by the way Sherlock grimaced that he was already beginning to doubt her competency in the lab. She wasn’t about to let some too-attractive-for-his-own-good police detective think she couldn’t do her job just because she got a little tongue-tied.

“None of the initial screenings came back positive for any of the drugs you asked about.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and looked over her shoulder as if he were seeing something she couldn’t. Molly glanced at Lestrade and he simply shrugged as if he’d seen it plenty of times before.

“Detective? I wasn’t done?” She waved her hand in front of his face and he blinked, then scowled down at her. 

“What?”

“Well, I said nothing came up initially, but then it occurred to me that everything on your list was an intoxicant and Mrs Perkins did walk out into the middle of a busy street which could mean that she was disoriented, so I checked her stomach contents and did some bloodwork on my own.”

Sherlock sighed in annoyance, but at least he was listening to her now.

“Mrs Perkins was extremely hypoglycaemic at the time of her death, extremely so.” 

“What’s that mean?” Lestrade asked.

“Symptoms of hypoglycaemia can be very similar to intoxication,” Sherlock explained. “Insulin?”

She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself, but she answered anyway. “I was waiting on the results of one more test to confirm, but I would say insulin shock could be your culprit.” 

“She was diabetic, how did I miss that?” he groaned.

“But she wasn’t,” Molly replied. “Her glycosylated hemoglobin came back well within normal range, and there were no other signs of diabetes mellitus.”

Sherlock blinked several times, then his lips quirked upward into a grin. “Oh, this is good. Poisoned with insulin, too disoriented to recover when she was shoved into the street, and everyone assumes it was an accident. Lestrade, we need to have a word with Perkins’ nephew.”

“Somehow, I knew you were going to say that,” Lestrade sighed. He nodded toward Molly as he excused himself, saying he needed to call someone name Donovan to get the nephew’s address as he moved into the hall.

She waited for Sherlock to follow the other man, but he continued to look at her as if he wasn’t sure what to think of her. “I, uh, I hope I didn’t overstep-“

“You didn’t,” he cut her off. “You’re new.”

“Ish.” Molly smiled and tucked a loose bit of hair back behind her ear. “Nearly a month now. Everyone is nice, I like it here.” And she was babbling again.

“Pleased to hear that. I’ll inform Lestrade that I’d prefer to work with you rather than Riker from now on.”

Molly sputtered, “What? You can’t-can you do that? Doctor Riker is senior to me.”

“He greatly dislikes me and would be happy if he never had to see me again. I doubt he’ll have any objections, but I’ll have it taken care of regardless.” Sherlock produced a card and handed it to her. “Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. That’s my number. Text me when you’ve confirmed it’s an insulin overdose. Until we run into each other again, Doctor Hooper.” He winked and flashed a boyish grin at her before hurrying after Lestrade.

She stared down at the business card in her hand and wondered what, exactly, she’d managed to get herself involved in.


End file.
